


When Fools Can Be Kings

by thebureauisclosed (insibbegerest)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Assassin School, F/F, F/M, Humor, M/M, Modern Assassins, Modern Era, templars have taken over the world and the assassins don't like that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3602268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insibbegerest/pseuds/thebureauisclosed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Masyaf Institute isn't the elite secondary school it appears to be. Its students know nothing about Chemistry or Geography, true, but they are very adept at slitting people's throats (much more useful than trigonometry if you ask them).<br/>Enter Abstergo agent Haytham Kenway, a respectable member of a society controlled by templars, whose job it is to hunt assassins. The assassins are less than pleased, to put it mildly...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No one expects the British inquisition

**Author's Note:**

> To prevent any potential confusion - in this fic, Edward is Connor's cousin or something of the sort, I wanted them both to be students... which would be quite difficult if Edward was Connor's grandpa, wouldn't it.  
> If you want to ask where this story takes place, well... don't do that. Let's say it's an imaginary place only existing in this particular AU, I'm not too keen on writing about cities I've never visited and describing foreign education systems.  
> Thanks for your understanding, I hope you enjoy reading this! Getting a kudos or a comment always cheers a writer up, so... ;)

„So! In today’s Maths class, we will talk about... Maths,“ Altair grinned, clapping his hands with fake excitement.

„Maths,“ Malik repeated with a blank face. „Is this man even real?“ Unfortunately, the seat next to him was empty that day, which was why he got no reply. Not that he was complaining – according to the seating plan, Abbas Sofian should be the one sitting beside him. Malik didn’t like Abbas. Abbas didn’t like Malik. Actually, everyone hated Abbas and Abbas hated everyone; the only thing he and Malik agreed on was what a royal dick Altair Ibn-La’Ahad could be to his apprentices.

Altair rushed to the smartboard, regarding it with confusion and disapproval. He knew shit about Maths, which must have been apparent to everyone in the classroom, but as they say, fake it until you make it. He lifted his hand and started scribbling random numbers and letters onto it, taking good care to use as many parentheses,  square roots and complex fractions as possible. After finishing, he smiled proudly at his work and turned around. „So!“ he exclaimed. „Who wants to solve this?“

„That equation makes no sense,“ Malik heard Rebecca murmur from the back row.

„Dude, nothing with too many numbers in it makes sense,“ was Desmond’s hushed reply.

„Mister Miles! Did I hear you talk?“ Altair raised his eyebrow.

„Err, no... sir.“ He spat out the last word a bit too fast and it left a strange taste in his mouth. Normally, they called their teachers 'mentor' or they simply used their first names. Not many would dare to call Achilles by his name, true, but when it came to younger teachers like Altair, 'hello Altair' seemed more natural than 'good morning, mentor'. And far more natural than 'sir'.

This was no ordinary day though.

„I think I did,“ said Altair.

„That’s funny because I didn’t say a word.“

„Funny indeed. Come here and take a look at this equation, would you?“

Desmond stood up slowly and sauntered to the board, frowning deeply. The numbers on the board returned the frown, or so it seemed to him. Should he first solve for x? For y? Should he pretend-faint or start crying so that Altair would leave him alone?

„Um,“ Desmond said, boring a hole into the board with his gaze. „I don’t know how.“

Neither did Altair, of course. He’d kill ten men barehanded without a problem, but explaining Maths to a bunch of bored teenagers? Sounded like a true nightmare, didn’t it? On a normal day, Altair would meet up with the students at the training area, brief them on what exercises they should do that day and then let the youngsters have their fun. He occasionaly yelled at someone with a bad technique or treated minor wounds when someone tripped over their feet.

But everything changed when the government decided to stick their noses into Al Mualim’s business. And there was nothing that Al Mualim, the current headmaster at Masyaf Institute, despised more than nosy templars. Or _those Abstergo bitches,_ as he nicknamed them.

However, the nosy templar/those Abstergo bitches had their reasons, or so they believed. Now let’s go back in time five days to witness the real beginning of our story.

 

xxx

_„Sir,“ said Charles Lee upon entering the room. He bowed his head in a respectful, but unnecessary gesture. The knowledge that his subordinates held him in high regard pleased Haytham, but he didn't consider himself to be superior to them. When people were nice and polite to him, he had no reason not to return the favour. However, the fact that Haytham could act friendly didn't mean he always did so. If you upset Haytham Kenway, it would shortly after be recommended to you that you start saving money for your coffin in which you might soon enough find a new home. Haytham balanced between good and evil, choosing whichever held more use in the given moment. He would tell you it was a very human thing to do; those who claim to be of an absolutely pure heart are liars. In the real world, white doesn't exist, it is always stained with various shades of grey._

_He gestured for Lee to sit down, „What is it, Charles?“_

_Lee didn't take up on the offer, still standing on his feet with his head raised high,  „We have discovered a new potential assassin school.“_

_Haytham sighed. Will the assassins never give up? „Which one?“_

_„The Masyaf Institute,“ said Lee slowly, „the one your son attends.“_

_Haytham froze, but let none of his emotions show. With a feigned lack of interest, he asked, „What proof do we have?“_

_„Well, all we have is an anonymous tip, but I still think it would be wise to investigate the accusation, sir. Better safe than sorry.“_

_„Certainly,“ Haytham nodded. „I'll look into it myself. I want you and Maria to accompany me.“_

_„Gladly. By the way,“ Lee cleared his throat, „Hickey would have you know he'd like to join the investigation this time.“_

_„And the pub located nearby the Masyaf Institute surely has nothing to do with his sudden eagerness.“_

_Lee shrugged, choosing not to respond. Haytham knew the truth all the same._

_„I have made my decision,“ said Haytham, „inform miss Thorpe, please. Thomas can drink as his heart desires in his free time, not during a mission.“_

_„As you wish, sir,“ Lee nodded, took several steps backwards and when he trod on the doorsill, he closed the door behind him._

_Haytham sighed. Ziio worked at the institute and if Charles' suspicions weren't ill-placed, it would mean she was actually an assassin mentor. Well. It would explain why things didn't work out between them._

_Still, the thought that both his son and ex have joined the brotherhood was anything but pleasant. He hoped their anonymous informer was wrong._

 

xxx

 

 Altair decided it would be wiser to send Desmond back to his seat before his eyes fell out, or before he collapsed only from looking at the equation. As Altair was scrutinising the class for his next victim, Leonardo da Vinci raised his hand, „May I, sir?“

„Sure, come here,“ Altair nodded, thankful for the almost divine intervention. He handed Leonardo the marker and stepped away from the board.

Leonardo was writing furiously, somehow managing to solve the impossible equation. _Of course he would_ , Altair thought and took a quick look at the result.

 

a = 55/87 i V -25/87 i

 

Technically speaking, Leonardo wasn’t a student like the others. He was on good terms with the Auditores, one of the most important sponsors Al Mualim’s school had, which was why Maria Auditore immediately recommended Leonardo’s services after finding out Al Mualim was looking for a trustworthy person to occupy the position of school librarian. Leonardo indeed started out as a librarian, but the library was too small for his great mind and soon he ended up doing a bit of everything, even attending some of the lectures when he felt like it. No one questioned it anymore. Also, he was quite young and could easily pass as a student, so his „classmates“ didn’t mind and generally liked him.

„Dude,“ Rebecca whispered a bit too loudly, „that's not even how you're supposed to use imaginary numbers, he just... wrote some random bullshit.“

„No one is supposed to use imaginary numbers. Like, ever. It should be against the law,“ said Desmond.

„Mister Miles!“ Altair shouted. He was beginning to see the merits of being a pseudo Maths teacher. „Did I hear you talking again?“

„Probably not if you must ask, sir.“

Haytham Kenway, the agent Abstergo had sent to investigate whether there was anything illegal going on in the school, was sitting in the back row, his face blank as a piece of paper. He must have been suspicious, but didn’t let any of his thoughts show.

Altair walked over to Desmond, bent his head down and snatched a folded note from Desmond‘s hand. „No talking and no love letters in my classes, understood?“

„What a dick,“ muttered Malik. Altair of course heard him, but gave no response, as if Malik wasn’t even worth his attention.

Instead, Altair turned his gaze to Edward who was in the process of chewing a giant chicken sandwich. „Mister Kenway?“

Edward loudly swallowed a piece of said sandwich. „Yeah?“

„What can you tell me about trigonometry?“

„Well. There’s a lot of... triangles and angles and stuff.“

„Would you write down some of the formulas?“ He put the marker down on Edward’s desk and pointed at the whiteboard.

Edward got up and smiled with a smile so bright and confident it was painfully obvious he had no knowledge of the subject.

Instead of checking Edward’s formulas, Altair was keeping an eye on Haytham, examining his behaviour. Haytham hasn’t uttered a sound since entering the room, which was, frankly, more than disconcerting. _The order must be proud of him,_ Altair thought, _his sole presence here makes me feel like I had better pack up my stuff and get out of here right this instant. Fucking templars._

Haytham, as though reading Altair’s mind, raised his head ever so slightly. And unless Altair’s eyes were playing tricks on him, Haytham’s mouth twitched in a hint of a triumphant smirk.

Altair didn’t like that look. He didn’t like it one bit.

Desmond, worried Altair might throw a bitch fit if he caught him penning another message to Rebecca, cautiously pulled his phone out of his bag and hid it behind the pencil case he had bought for that purpose specifically.

 

_To: Rebecca_

_Altair Ibn-La’Ahad? more like Altair Ibn-La’Dickhead-To-The-Students-Especially-Malik-And-Desmond_

_From: Rebecca_

_that surname wouldn’t even fit on his ID..._

_To: Rebecca_

_how about Ibn-La’Douche?_

_From: Rebecca_

_seems legit... btw u free after ‚biology‘ with la volpe?  gotta go to the library to return some books on hacking..._

_To: Rebecca_

_uh, would you believe me if I said I was very busy?_

_From: Rebecca_

_have you ever been to our library?? you always avoid going there with me..._

_To: Rebecca_

_of course I have been there_

_From: Rebecca_

_great! go with me today, please... i don’t wanna go alone!_

_To: Rebecca_

_haha, you afraid?_

_From: Rebecca_

_ugh, you bet... :( the librarian dude is scary, i swear i thought he would kill me and lucy when we brought a bottle of cola with us!_

_To: Rebecca_

_so you don’t actually want my company, you just want me to protect you from the evil librarian?_

_From: Rebecca_

_exactly!_

_To: Rebecca_

_why are we even friends_

_From: Rebecca_

_because i’m awesome and u love me <3_

_To: Rebecca_

_...no comment_

When Desmond saw Altair looking around the classroom, he quickly hid his phone, pretending to be the perfect student. Thankfully, Altair wasn’t noticing him, he was too busy making faces at Ezio who was currently gulping down the rest of the sandwich he stole from Edward. At least Ezio had the decency to look guilty.

Edward doing Maths, Altair being a douchy douche, scary librarian dudes, templars snooping around their school...

This Monday would never end, would it? What a fucking nightmare.


	2. Friendly encounters

Desmond has indeed been to the school library before, once. He hasn't returned since. He hasn't mentioned to Rebecca they both had very similar yet very different reasons for avoiding the place; it was all the ‚evil‘ librarian's fault. Rebecca has been refusing to go there on her own because the dude freaked her out, whereas Desmond, well. He caught a serious case of The Crush, so to speak; he was afraid he'd go all red or say something incredibly embarrassing if he were to talk to the man.

Don't you dare tell Rebecca that. She can never know.

„Desmond? Are you there?“ Rebecca noticed her friend was deep in thought and because she hated being ignored, she reminded him of her presence by poking him in the ribs.

„Ouch! Yeah, where else would I be?“

„Like hell if I know, probably lost somewhere in your private Desmondland. Anyway, here we are!“

One thing has changed since Desmond last visited the library - he could swear there had been no message sticked to the door. He skimmed it through;

 

_RULES_

_(btw rules are actually meant to be followed, NOT violated, as some of you choose to believe)_

_1\. No food in the library, I don't care if you are starving and haven't eaten in days; piss off and take your bloody doritos with you_

_2\. No drinking in the library (especially no alcohol and yes, Edward Kenway, that does apply to you as well)_

_3\. Wash your hands before you touch anything, those books didn't come to our school on their tiny book feet, WE HAD TO PAY FOR THEM SO HAVE SOME RESPECT AND STOP SMEARING BOOK PAGES WITH NUTELLA_

_4\. Don't draw or write in the books and don’t even think about dog-earing. What are you, babies?_

_5\. No talking in the library_

_6\. No running around the library_

_7\. No making out in the library (I'm looking at you, Auditore)_

_8\. No sassing your local librarian_

_9\. If you borrow a book, it would be nice of you to return it sometime this century instead of losing it, thanks (losing books is punished by death btw)_

_10\. If you are the headmaster - hello there mentor, sorry for all those nasty words, but your students can be total fucking idiots_

 

Underneath, in a different handwriting, was added;

 

**I am aware. - Al Mualim**

 

Desmond doubted it was really the headmaster who wrote these words, but still, it was funny.

He and Rebecca walked into the library and Desmond held his breath. The Crush/The Evil Librarian was sitting behing his desk, looking grumpy as ever. He was in the middle of reproaching poor Kadar Al-Sayf for laughing too loud.

„What a tyrant,“ Rebecca whispered before approaching the librarian and clearing her throat.

His eyes shot up at her. „Yes?“ he said tiredly.

She put Machiavelli's Il Principe on the counter and said, „I’m bringing this back. Also, do you have anything on the assassins in Ancient Rome?“

„We have everything.“ His chair made a creeking sound as he got up and walked over to one of the regals on the other side of the room. „Took interest in Aquarius and company, huh? I'd recommend you these two books, they're well written and also contain some lovely pictures, I know you students adore books with pictures. The more of them, the less of the text, right?“ He passed the two books to Rebecca. Then, his gaze finally fell to Desmond. The eyes behind glasses turned into two narrow lines.

„Your hands,“ he said.

„Uh, sorry?“ Desmond frowned.

„Your hands,“ repeated the librarian patiently, „either wash them or cut them off, but I won't have you parading around here like this.“

Desmond looked down to examine his hands that were smeared by paint. „Oh... I helped Leonardo move some stuff and...“

„I don't care who you've been helping. You've heard me.“

„Dude...“

„Don't dude me, that won't help you.“

Desmond sighed deeply, grabbing Rebecca's sleeve and forcing her to follow him back to the hall.

„What a douche. He and Altair would totally become BFF's,“ Rebecca noted.

„Either that, or they'd kill each other.“

„Altair would kill him first, haven't you seen him fight or what? And then you'd kill Altair to avenge the evil guy's death.“

„Um... What? Why would I do that?“

Rebecca rolled her eyes in exasperation, „Oh come on, I saw you staring at him, you reminded me of one of those heart-eyed emojis. And you were so ogling his ass when he went to get the books for me.“

„I wasn't!“ protested Desmond weakly, smelling defeat in the air.

„You so were, Des. No point in denying it.“

And so Desmond didn't deny anything. Keeping things from Rebecca was a heroic task.

 

xxx

 

When Connor Kenway was walking down the stairs and wondering about what his father's intentions were, he bumped into someone.

„Sorry,“ he apologised hastily, looking at the other person.

The girl, Rebecca, gave him a blinding smile, „Don't worry about it. Just be more careful, falling down the stairs can be kinda dangerous. And painful. Trust me, I know from experience.“

„Thanks for the warning.“

While Rebecca was leaving, accompanied by one of her friends, Connor's brow furrowed. How could everyone be so carefree, did his classmates not realise what was at stake? If the templars found indisputable proof that they indeed are assassins, he and the others could be imprisoned or even executed. Yet no one seemed to worry their heads about it.

Connor, frowning deeply, headed to the room he shared with Shay Cormac. The two have never become close friends, but they respected each other and mostly got on well. Connor noticed Shay could be often seen hanging around with Lucy Stillman. Connor didn't think they were an item, but then again, he was no expert when it came to relationships.

When he was about to open the door to his and Shay's room, something stopped him - a hand on his shoulder.

„Hello, son,“ said a voice Connor hasn't heard in years. He jerked his head in surprise; what could his father want from him after all this time of not even calling him?

„Would you mind if we talked?“ Haytham's voice sounded friendly. Way too friendly.

Connor nodded, both cautious and curious. Haytham started walking, so he followed him.

„What do you think about the allegation your school is currently facing?“ Haytham asked.

„It is false,“ said Connor firmly. He hated lying, but now there was much more at stake than his honour.

„Of course,“ nodded Haytham. „So, what do you think about the assassins?“

Was this a trick question? What was the correct answer? „I don't know,“ said Connor, „I haven't given them much thought. Why?“

Haytham shrugged, „Just asking. Me and my colleagues have come here because of an anonymous tip we had received. You wouldn't know who sent the message, would you?“

Anonymous message? Oh no. Connor didn't like the implications of that - someone must have betrayed them. Or maybe one of the younger novices wasn't careful enough and shared secret information with an unreliable ‚friend‘. „I don't know. What was written in the message?“

„Not much, nothing definite. All the note said was that the Masyaf Institute is actually an undercover assassin training ground. By the way, your Maths teacher comes across as a rather... strange fellow.“

Strange fellow, a nicer way of saying Altair was an idiot. For example Aveline, their fake Geography teacher, has been at least doing research on her new subject. Her lectures about South Africa made some sense, unlike Altair's not-so-funny babbling.

„I have been told all Maths teachers are strange,“ said Connor in a neutral voice.

„Perhaps. Well, it was nice talking to you again, but I have work to do. And so do you, being  the hard working student you certainly are. See you later, Connor.“ With that, he smirked and disappeared.

„See you, father,“ said Connor quietly. Not that Haytham could hear him, his departure was too fast.

Connor didn't know what he had expected from this conversation. Of course Haytham would use him as a source of information, when he looked at his son, he saw another suspect, not his son. Would it be so difficult for Haytham to at least pretend they were related, just for a while? Connor knew he and his father probably didn't have much in common, seeing as Haytham was a templar, but still, a part of him wanted Haytham to give a damn about him. Wasn’t it natural?

Finally, he could go to his room as he had intended before Haytham interrupted him. Connor silently picked up his things from the table and changed his shirt because this one was soaked with sweat after practicing fencing with his cousin Edward. Connor took a large sip of cold water to quench his thirst and left for his next lesson that would start in about four minutes. If he remembered correctly, they had ‚Ecology‘? And with his mother. He quickened his pace, Ziio had no mercy on latecomers.

When he strode into the classroom, Ziio was sitting on her table (apparently the chair didn't offer enough comfort), prepared to start her lesson. Connor sat down and laid his books on the desk.

„Does anyone know if Haytham Kenway and his snooping dogs are anywhere nearby?“ Ziio asked.

Anne Bonny raised her hand, „They're having lunch in the diner, mentor.“

„Good.“ Ziio walked over to the door and locked it. Then, she responded to her students‘ confused looks, „No one can hear us now. This is an emergency situation. If one of you says a single wrong word, the whole school is doomed. I strongly advise you to avoid the templars at all costs. Don't talk to them and when they ask you a question, answer shortly and don't let them detain you. Have they already tried to question any of you?“

The first one to raise her hand was Mary Read. „That woman, Maria Thorpe, wanted to talk. I told her I was busy and left.“

Ziio nodded, „Well done. Anyone else?“

„Father told me he and the other templars had arrived because of an anonymous message,“ Connor spoke up. „It was probably written by either a student or a mentor. I am afraid we have a traitor in our midst.“

The class fell silent. Everyone's eyes were on Connor. If his suspicion was right, did it mean they could trust no one?

„Maybe someone here is actually a secret templar agent,“ Shay suggested.

„We must not jump to conclusions!“ warned Ziio. „Be cautious, but not paranoid. Blaming your friends won't change a thing, it might cause a tragedy though. We must stick together, now more than ever. Understood?“

The students nodded in agreement. They knew all too well it was better not to oppose Ziio, and she knew they knew.

She smiled contentedly. The sword of Damocles was hanging over them, nevertheless, if anyone was capable of protecting themselves from a deadly weapon, it was the assassins. Perhaps all wasn’t lost.


	3. No one knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know updating took me forever, sorry! Stuff has been keeping me busy.

"Name one book written by Virginia Woolf," Adewale’s eyes scanned the class, searching for a student that wasn’t paying attention, "…Connor."

Frankly, it surprised Adewale to see Connor so unfocused. Most of the time, the boy was very perceptive and hard-working, doing his best to succeed. Today, however, the boy did nothing but gape at the wall. Adewale thought he heard Connor muttering something to himself, but he wasn’t sure. There was one thing he was sure of though - Connor had been acting strange.

"I… sorry… sir? Would you mind repeating the question?" said Connor awkwardly.

 Adewale sighed, "Virginia Woolf. Give me one book."

The answer didn’t make Connor look any less confused. "Virgina Woolf," he parroted. "I… Don’t know. I am sorry."

"Sorry isn’t going to help you pass the class, son." Connor knew he didn’t actually have to be afraid of failing Adewale’s class. When Adewale wasn’t in the middle of pretending he was a literature teacher, he taught his students to improve their swimming and diving skills. Some said he was capable of holding his breath for over fifteen minutes, but Connor never believed rumours. Nevertheless, Connor was a great swimmer (not as great as his cousin Edward, but then again, Edward was a special case) and as such he didn’t have to worry about Adewale’s threats. And it wasn’t like anyone in the room knew the answers to his literature trivia quiz, anyway.

"Mrs Dalloway," said Lucy Stillman. Alright. Lucy obviously did, but that was it.

"To the Lighthouse," said Leonardo. Whoa, that was unfair! Leonardo was the human embodiment of Wikipedia, he knew everything about everything. And he wasn’t even supposed to be there, why couldn’t he dust old books and yell at novices in the library instead of Hastings? No one liked the grouchy Brit. Like Leonardo, he could give you the right answer to about any question, but that was where their similarities ended. No one would dear harm poor sweet Leo, while kicking Shaun Hastings in his arse would certainly turn out to be an immensely satisfying experience.

"Correct, I am proud of you two," said Adewale contently as the school bell began to ring. All the assassins, as well as the only present templar, stood up. The templar took the empty seat next to Malik and listened intently to Adewale’s every word. It made Malik quite uncomfotable, to sit next to an enemy who probably wanted them all dead, but then again, he was used to sharing space with morons (e.g. a certain Abbas Sofian).

"Wait," said the templar woman when Malik was about to set off to the diner and fill his empty stomach, "I’d like to talk to you."

Malik would flip her off, but that wouldn’t bode well for him. He remembered Ziio’s lecture and said stiffly, "Not right now, sorry. I am too busy."

She smiled, but there was nothing friendly or warm about the smile, "I understand." Then she added, her voice lower, "They have trained you well."

"Sorry?"

 "Nothing," she smirked. "Now off you go, you said you had things to do, didn’t you?"

 Malik nodded and all but ran out of the room.

 

* * *

 

Despite not having been invited, Hickey could be seen sitting to Haytham’s left. Not that the sight was unexpected, Hickey had never been known to resist a tasty dish.

"Hey," said Maria.  

Lee and Hickey nodded at her, only Haytham responded to her greeting verbally. Maria sat next to Hickey and waited to be served. What? She was a VIP from Abstergo, why would she bother getting the lunch herself?  

Not long after, a young assassin-or-student laid a plate with potatoes and beef on the table in front of her. She thanked him politely, he nodded and disappeared.  

"Any new information?" asked Haytham.

Maria shook her head. Truth be told, she wasn’t trying as hard as her abilities would allow her. She disliked assassins, of course she did, but what would happen to all these students if Abstergo managed to prove their allegiance to the order? Would they be killed like dogs? She glanced over her shoulder. At the nearest table, two girls and one boy were eating and laughing. Wait, or was it two boys and one girl? The one with the red bandana looked quite androgynous, Maria couldn’t be certain. Could it be that these seemingly harmless teenagers were being trained to become murderers? Maria couldn’t help it but look at the trio again. The redhead with a flower in her hair seemed so innocent as she was smiling at her friends. Perhaps their anonymous informator had been mistaken?

"Your dish will get cold, Maria," said Haytham amusedly, interrupting her train of thought.

"Um. Right." Marie paused. "Sir… Do you honestly think these children are killers?"

"Not necessarily," said Haytham, "not at the moment, but they are being raised to become killers. Why?"

"They look so… normal."

"What should they look like?" Hickey spoke. "Should they have three hands? Or the word assassin tattooed on their foreheads?"

"It would certainly make things easier for us," Maria muttered under her breath. Haytham leaned over the table, propping his elbows.

"Having doubts about our assignment, Maria?"

"Of course not, sir." It wasn’t exactly true, neither was it a full-fledged lie. Doubting one’s cause and purpose was only natural, where there has never been doubt, true belief can’t be born. Maria was disgusted by the idea of hurting these youngsters. She did realise the assassins’ ideology was deeply flawed, yet she felt no desire to satisfy the hunger of her blade. It was only the mentors they must stop, not their little puppets who likely thought they were playing heroes instead of being manipulated and turned into murderers.

"Good," Haytham nodded, apparently content with her answer. Much more content than Maria was. No, she must abandon those treacherous thoughts, she can't be so weak and let herself be lead astray.

Someone laid their hands on the tablecloth, clearing their throat to gain the agents’ attention. Maria’s gaze shot up to examine the intruder. He was relatively young, but still too old to be a student. A teacher then, she assumed. A thin scar ran over his smirk. "Hey," he said, "everything to your liking?"

"Ah, Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad, the Mathematics teacher, if I remember correctly," said Haytham.

"Yeah, that would be me."

Maria, observant as ever, let her eyes roam all over the diner and take in the young students’ behaviour. Some were too focused on their food, some were trying to eavesdrop on their conversation with Altair. The boy she had approached earlier that day in class wasn’t even trying to hide his curiosity. No, the grimace on his face expressed manily a large dose of anger, only a pinch of curiosity. He seemed constantly angry, as if he wanted nothing more than to burn this school down with all the students and templars still inside, move away and find a lovely desolate place to settle down with his cats. Yes, definitely cats, not dogs - Maria knew a cat person when she saw one. The cat boy caught her gaze and, to her surprise, showed no sign of fear or any other emotion. Then, his gaze lazily slid over to watch Altair.

 

* * *

 

 "What the hell is wrong with Al Mualim, seriously?” Malik muttered. "Every mentor would be better at attempting small talk with templars than Altair. How could he ever convince them he’s a normal teacher? Look at him, all grinning and pretending to be Kenway’s best friend. He’s going to give us all away!”

"Man,” said Desmond, mouth full of chicken soup, "you know I love shit-talking the mentors as much as the next guy, but could you shut up about Ibn-La’Ahad just for a second? I'd like to finish eating my soup in peace, thanks.” "

"What? I don't talk about the dickhead all the time!"

"Yes you do," said Desmond calmly and passed the salt to Rebecca who had been frowning at her plate miserably.

"Well guess what, I have a fucking reason!" Malik shouted. "You know what he did to me."

"Dude, it's not like he himself pushed you off that wall."

Malik snorted, "He could as well have, it would make no difference. This is all his fault anyway." Gingerly, he stretched out his left arm. His fingers had been shaking before he slowly closed them in a fist. Malik's features twisted into a pained grimace as he moved his hand back under the table.

"My arm is fucking useless," Malik growled. "If I was left-handed, I swear to god..."

"But you're not," Desmond was trying to calm Malik down before his friend would explode. "He made a dumb mistake, but at least he regrets it."

Malik's sole reply was an 'are you shitting me' face, which, frankly, he wore more often than not.

Last year (Malik's second as a novice, Altair's fifth as a mentor), Al Mualim made the call to close the institute for a week, so that his contacts could help him renovate the equipment and basically, turn the building into a place better suited for its important task. Not that the school hadn't been one of the best assassin training places anyway, but improvements never hurt the cause, do they. The Masyaf Institute had earned the reputation of an elite school that only accepted the best of the best. Most of its novices and mentors alike mastered the, otherwise rare, skill generally known as Eagle Vision. Those, who didn't, had to make up for this imperfection in other ways;  Malik, one of the assassins whose senses were no more refined than those of an ordinary man, had excellent results in both physical and logical tests. Nowadays, Malik's fighting abilites have diminished because of his half-functioning left hand, however, his dedication and intelligence thankfully kept Al Mualim from expelling him.

Back when the institute had been in the middle of being renovated, the novices had held celebrations for the free time it would bring them. Sadly, their hopes died after finding out they would still attend some sort of lessons, although they'd take place outside of the school grounds and would differ from their usual training routine.

Despite being an expert on fencing, Altair had chosen to enrich the novices' experience by taking them to a templar training centre. Secretly. At night. Some students loved the idea (Ezio), others wanted to strangle Altair for even thinking of something so reckless (Malik). Upon reaching the climbing wall, Malik had politely asked Altair to be left out of this particular exercise because he'd been feeling sick the whole day. Altair had responded with a mischievous smirk, ignored Malik's request and continued to be as insufferable as before. Either not noticing or not caring that Malik's body had been covered in cold sweat and his eyes could barely stay open, Altair had ordered him to climb up the wall. Malik had told him to fuck off several times, but in the end, he'd had to obey. Not long after, his head had begun spinning  and Malik, weak and close to fainting, fell down to the ground. Altair had rushed towards him immediately and, mad with worry, took him to Leonardo's.

At any rate, the damage had been done.

"I told him several times I wasn't feeling well and the idiot always shut me down," said Malik. "I know my fucking limits but no, he insisted he knew better."

"He was really sorry though," repeated Desmond.

"And I'm still really pissed though," Malik replied. "His sorry won't fix my arm. Besides, he's never stopped being an arsehole to me, no matter how _sorry_ he's been."

"Well, it's Altair," said Desmond as though that explained everything perfectly.

Malik nodded, "It's Altair." He looked back at the mentor who was currently discussing some certainly dull matters with the templar woman, and he sighed.

Desmond, afraid his friend would remain in this sombre mood for the rest of the afternoon, changed the topic, "Who do you think is the traitor? And please, don't say Altair."

"Of course it's not Altair," said Malik to Desmond's surprise, "I don't like him, but I know he's not _that_ dumb. It must have been a student, I can't imagine any of our mentors snucking secret notes into Kenway's pocket."

"Who then?"

"Wish I knew," Malik sighed. "It's rubbish, but if I had to pick one, I'd probably go with Edward. He doesn't care much for the rules."

"But he's an okay guy."

And that was the whole problem. Everyone was suddenly an okay guy or an okay girl and how the hell are you supposed to come to terms with the fact that one of your closest friends was to be accused of treason?


End file.
